Almost Perfect
by HashtagLEH
Summary: He'd had psychiatrists before. None of them were as uniquely individual as Dr. Harleen Quinzel was. He didn't care so much about killing them or making them insane enough to share a wall with him from the next room over. Her, though…he could see something different in her. And he wanted to change her - into his Harley Quinn. He wanted to make her perfect.


**I went to an early showing of Suicide Squad yesterday, and I loved it so much that I went back and watched it again tonight. I haven't even seen or read any of DC Comics – not even Superman – but I fell absolutely in love with the Joker and Harley, and I had the inspiration to write this. I hope I captured their characters alright! Hope you enjoy!**

 **Warning: semi-graphic torture in the form of electroshock done to a woman by a man**

 **…**

Dr. Harleen Quinzel.

That was really a mouthful. Harley Quinn would be better, more suited to the girl the name belonged to. He called her Harley Quinn in their second meeting, after he'd decided that she would be a very good tool to him. She hadn't protested, not that it would have mattered. She was _his_ now, even if she didn't know it.

He'd had psychiatrists before. None of them were as uniquely individual as Harley Quinn was. He didn't care so much about killing them or making them insane enough to share a wall with him from the next room over. Harley, though…he could see something different in her. And he was curious.

So he pretended that she was helping. He pretended that she was exactly the person he needed. He pretended to fall in love with her, even from across the metal table while sitting in the straitjacket.

His plan worked perfectly. He shaped his interactions exactly to suit her darker side, and soon enough her darker side showed itself without so much help from him. She didn't raise that delicately dangerous eyebrow so much when he made some comment that most people in the world would deem psychotic. Instead, she got a gleam in her eyes – an excited, curious gleam that said she wanted to know more. She wanted to hear him speak, say those crazy things and make her fall in love with the sound of his voice so much more.

He had never expected for the plan to backfire on him so spectacularly.

He didn't even realize it until he'd made another 'psychotic' comment about death and killing, and not only did she not raise an eyebrow, but she actually smiled a bit. Amusement danced in her eyes, even as she looked down at her notebook and scribbled something else in it. And it was in that moment that the Joker wanted the kisses they shared to mean something. He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her.

Then he'd tested her.

 _"I need a machine gun."_

And she'd followed through. He'd got the machine gun, and he really didn't want the other supposedly 'sane' people getting to her. He didn't want her to be trapped in a mental facility like this one – or even this very one. Because he'd worked on her for _weeks_ , dammit, and she was almost perfect.

 _Almost._

She needed more, and he didn't want to wait. He'd done his waiting while trapped in the asylum, and he'd never claimed to be patient before. He wanted Harley Quinn _now_ , and he knew already of the perfect way to turn her into the person he knew she could be. She would be perfect. She would be _his_.

He had his men capture her, tie her down on a table while she was unconscious. And when she woke up – _"Are you gonna kill me, Mistah J?"_ – there was that betrayal in her eyes as he stood over her with the prods in either of his hands. But there was still loyalty – still adoration. She still wanted him to win, to escape and be free of this place.

 _"Oh, I'm not gonna kill ya,"_ he'd assured her, getting closer and grinning in reassurance. _"I'm just gonna hurt ya really... **really**... **b** **ad**."_

 _"Then do it! I'm not afraid."_

And she wasn't. He'd seen fear before, and none of the symptoms shone on her face. She knew exactly what he was going to do – exactly what it would accomplish – and she still wanted him. She told him not with her words but also with her eyes – she didn't care what it took to get it, but she _wanted him_.

It was a euphoric feeling. He always loved when people adored him, and it just made it all the more sweeter that it would be her now. He removed his belt and folded it in half, shoving it in her mouth to give her something to bite on – he wasn't a _complete_ monster, after all. And he would reward her loyalty with this small measure of relief.

He dipped the ends of the prods into some water, so that the shock would be magnified tenfold. Then the prods went on either side of her head, the electrical current flowed through, and she screamed – of course she did. Oh, the sound was beautiful. He swayed, humming a small tune like he was harmonizing with her screams. He gazed with rapture at her face streaked with sweat, scrunched in agony while he kept her brain flowing with the electricity for a solid forty-five seconds. She stayed awake through the pain, and finally he removed the prods, impressed despite himself at how she held on through the torture.

She panted once, twice, and finally she succumbed to unconsciousness. But it was enough for him. He rubbed his leather clad fingers curiously over the crimson burn marks on her temples – like love bites, he thought. Her transformation was coming along perfectly.

 _Almost._

It was three weeks later, and he could see the fruits of the treatment he'd given her already. She was just as perfect (or 'insane', as others called it) as he was. She was loyal. She was beautiful. She adored him. It was everything he could ever want from someone, all wrapped in one spectacular package.

 _Time for the test._

"Question…would you die for me?"

No doubt on her face. "Yes."

"That's too easy." He realized with a sigh, rolling his eyes away from her as he contemplated. "Would you…"

The opposite of death was life, he remembered, and with that thought he had his idea.

"Would you _live_ …for me?" That was infinitely harder than dying for someone. Living for someone was suffering for an indeterminable amount of time, not knowing when or even if a reprieve would come.

"Yes."

"Careful," he warned her, because if she didn't mean it there would be so many problems – for both of them. Because if she didn't mean it, he would annihilate her, and in effect would destroy himself. He would never want his perfect creation to turn out imperfect. He _needed_ her to be perfect.

"Do not say this oath – _thoughtlessly_ …" he continued his serious warning with danger in his voice. He put his hand over her mouth – the hand with the tattoo of a toothy grin on it.

"Desire becomes surrender; surrender becomes… _power_." He persuaded, reminding her of what was at stake with her answer. He lowered his hand slowly, and touched her bottom lip with his finger.

"Do you want this?"

"I do," her voice was strong, sure, and he remembered the words of that archaic ritual people used to be together for life – the words of marriage vows. But her words would have so much more power and _forever_ in them than any old marriage ritual.

"Say it," he whispered, tipping his head back slightly as an almost sensuous pleasure filled him at her loyalty. "Say it." He looked down at her. _"Say it…"_

His fingers tipped under her chin, convincing her to please him. "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty…"

"Please?"

She was his.

Unable to contain it, he made a noise of excitement, grin in his voice – "Gah, you're so – _good_."

Moments later she stood on the edge of the overhang – she looked back at him, and he looked at her expectantly. She'd passed every test so far – just one more. She was almost perfect. One more test and she would be there.

Then she leaned back, spreading her arms – she fell backwards, and he went to the edge just in time to see the splash her body made into the vat of chemicals. He stared at the still surface of chemicals – she was _perfect_.

He walked away from the edge, going toward the stairs to get down to where the vats were…and then he had the thought – she was _too_ perfect. She wasn't going to swim to the top, crawl out scarred, and stand by his side. She would let herself burn away, and she would be loyal to the very end.

With frustration bordering on admiration, he stripped off his jacket and walked back to the edge. He launched himself off with perfect grace, diving down and splashing cleanly into the vat. He found Harley and pulled her up – he couldn't have his finally _complete_ Harley Quinn destroyed.

Their clothes were disintegrating around them, swirling in colors of red and blue, and he could only look at the beauty of his flawless creation. He pressed his lips to hers, and she came awake with a gasp. Her eyes gazed up at him adoringly still, and in a moment he was attacking her lips again with his own. Her hands went to his hair and to his back, pulling him closer and responding back with the same ferocity he showed her. She loved him – she _adored_ him.

He was so rapturous, so ecstatic with his success, that he couldn't help pulling away. He tipped his head back, and laughed, because she was his. She was completely his and he'd done his work flawlessly – more flawlessly than he'd expected because he adored her as much as she did him. Dr. Harleen Quinzel had become his masterpiece – his Harley Quinn – his spectacular and perfect success.

 **…**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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